Chapter 30

Iwrap my arms around my knees and sink farther against the wall. A musty, coppery smell perfumes the air, though I can’t decipher if it’s from the lead pipes on the ceiling or the bloodstain on the ground.

The woman—whose name I discover is Braelyn—had led me through a series of passageways and halls until we ended up in a large room. Dozens of shifters sat ramrod straight when she entered. Somehow, that tiny slip of a female was able to innately command respect from anyone and everyone who stared directly at her. It’s the type of power I yearn to have myself. When the shifters turned towards me, their expressions became leery and distrustful. More than one had growled at me.

I was paraded through the throng of unruly men and women until I got to a cage in the corner. Through Braelyn’s eyes, I saw the cage wasn’t large enough for me to stand in. I doubted I could even sit upright. Rust was beginning to form on the bars, and a puddle of what I hoped wasn’t urine dripped over the sides.

Not another cage…

“Please,” I had begged desperately, dragging my feet. But my pleas had fallen on deaf ears as I was pushed unceremoniously into the minuscule cell.

Now, I push my consciousness into the nearest shifter’s mind, who is sitting indolently on a cafeteria table. At least, that’s what I’m assuming the room is used for. Besides the cage in the corner, the rest of the room is filled with long wooden tables easily able to hold a dozen, the kind I’d expect in a cafeteria. Men and women laugh, have sex, and throw punches. For the most part, I’m left alone.

I attempt to make myself as small as possible, placing my head between my knees. Fear thunders through me, and my breathing is labored. Cage after cage after cage. Is that all I’m good for? Being a prisoner? I inconspicuously brush a stray tear away. The last thing I need is to give in to the panic threatening to consume and swallow me whole.

Deep breath.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

“What do you plan to do with Blade’s whore?” a masculine voice inquires. The rowdy cheers and laughter diminish like a flame being blown out until the room is utterly still and silent. All eyes focus on Braelyn.

She’s sitting on one of the tables, her arm around a petite female. Her cold smile is a contrast to her elfin features and tiny stature. This woman is obviously not a stranger to killing. If the flames that enter her eyes are any indication, she revels in it.

“We could kill her,” she suggests almost lazily, planting a kiss on her lover’s head. Untangling herself from the other woman, Braelyn stands and crosses the room.

I cower, pressing my body flush against the bars.

Deep breaths.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

“She’s so fucking skittish and weak, it would be like killing a puppy,” a man protests.

Braelyn clicks her tongue, kneeling until she’s level with me. Her tiny hands slip through the bars and capture both my cheeks, holding me steady. I blink rapidly, attempting to dislodge the tears building.

I can barely hear over the pounding of my heart. Terror clamps down on the organ in an impenetrable iron vise.

Cage after cage after cage.

Always a prisoner.

Always. A. Prisoner.

“Or…” Braelyn touches the skin beneath my right eye. “We could cut out her pretty eyes and send them as a present to Blade.” She releases me suddenly, turning back towards the others with a deranged smile on her normally beautiful face.

In the next second, the door to the cage swings open on squeaky hinges. I press myself as far as I can against the corner, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

An unfamiliar man reaches for me. Instinctively, I kick my foot out, catching him in the kneecap. My momentary spurt of satisfaction dissipates when he grabs my ankle and drags me out of the cell. My beautiful silver dress pulls up, bunching around my thighs, and tears of mortification burn my eyes.

“Let’s teach Blade’s bitch a lesson, shall we?” Braelyn says, standing over me with her hands on her hips.

I begin to sob.

I’ve learnedto compartmentalize my pain. Group it into tiny boxes and bury said boxes at the bottom of the ocean.

Experiencing pain doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. How you handle yourself after the fact is what makes or breaks you as a person. Do you give in to your instincts and cry? Do you scream and fight? Do you empty yourself, so you’ll feel nothing at all?

There’s a delicate balance between being brave and being stupid. Do you dare to fight when you know the outcome will only be worse for you? Is it strength to accept your fate…or is that weakness?

I’ve learned to embrace my pain. It makes me feel human. It reminds me that I can still feel, still endure.

As Man stands over me, a malicious smile on his lips, I give in to the sensations battering for attention in my head. Blood wells on my leg from his scalpel, eliciting a hiss from my lips, one I quickly smother.

My hands are secured on either side of my body. A thick rope digs into my waist, restraining me.

“Are you going to scream for me, Little Monster?” he asks, red eyes glimmering in the sunlight streaming through the windows. At first, I thought the red eyes were fake, but now, I’m beginning to believe that they’re very, very real.

He’s a monster, through and through.

“Stop,” I say weakly. Tiredly. I poke my tongue out to lick my unbearably dry lips.

“I’m afraid I can’t.” He tsks. “You’re mine, Little Monster. Mine. I created you. Made you. You. Are. Mine.”

“I’m nobody’s,” I manage to stutter out before unconsciousness consumes me.